I'm not an alien

The following morning, a Saturday, House and Cameron were eating breakfast together at the coffee table. Between them was Wilson's cellphone, which he had managed to leave behind the previous night. He was due to collect it later.

"Did you have fun with him yesterday?", asked Cameron, munching her cereal while browsing the newspaper. One of the welcome perks of living in this apartment was its regular paper delivery. House, who tended towards apathy in most areas that were not medicine, sports, or music, had never explained why he invested in a regular drop-off. But it had become part of her routine to read it every weekend. Sometimes the old ways were best.

"With Wilson? Yeah. Just chilled out, played games, exercised. He was due a day of leave anyway".

"Oh, you exercised?". Her spoon halted mid-air and she glanced across.

"Uhuh", he managed through a mouthful of toast.

"How was it?".

"Pretty good, actually. I mean, my fitness is in the can, but apart from that nothing hurt too much".

Cameron nodded. "Good. Maybe you can start rehab soon?".

"Maybe. The cast'll be off soon-ish, praise Satan".

They ate in silence for a few moments, but when House turned his head to meet her gaze, she flicked her eyes sideways for what cannot have been longer than half a second.

"What?", he asked.

"Mmm? Nothing".

"You looked away".

"No".

"Yes".

"No".

"Yes. I can do this all day, by the way".

"I had something in my eye. It's gone now".

House remained looking at her impassively.

"Oh, for God's sake. Why do you have to be so attentive, you complete freak. No one is like that".

Now he raised an eyebrow. "You disapprove of me exercising. It's too soon".

"No. If you think you're ready, I agree".

"Then what?".

"Ugh". Cameron set her spoon down, placed the bowl on the table, and laced her hands in her lap. "I'm glad you're exercising. I just…I just, kinda, wish your first time back was with me".

"We're still talking about exercising here, right? Not, er, not anything else?". This is what he got for only having one male friend.

"OK, yes, very funny", she huffed, snatching up her cereal bowl again. As expected, he was making light of her insecurity. Sometimes House really was an ass.

"You're jealous", he stated, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I'm not jealous", she said automatically.

"It sounds like-".

"-fine, I'm jealous! And I know it's a ridiculous thing to be jealous about. And I know it's not my business to be annoyed at what goes on between you and Wilson. And I know that it's a massive step for you to be exercising again, and I'm so happy for you, like you wouldn't believe. But, yeah, I'm jealous, especially because it seems like you had to wait for me to leave for New York before trying this". These words emerged in a torrent, such that when Cameron finished she felt immediately self-conscious. "Don't worry; it's me, not you".

"I did wait for you to leave", he nodded slowly.

"Why?", she asked, completely confused.

"Because I didn't want you seeing me like this".

"Seeing you like what? I see you every day".

"Seeing me as weak; lurching around and sweating while doing so-called 'exercises' a grandpa could do".

This reasoning reminded Cameron of the day of his discharge, when she had offered herself as a compromise nursing candidate and he had proved extremely reluctant. As she had reflected many times, House's strength, his desire to be different, impacted him in any number of ways.

She shook her head, and the comment she had shared with him a long time ago in the office came back to her:

You are both the strongest man I've ever met, and the weakest; the bravest, but also the most afraid.

Perhaps that assessment had been correct back then. But times had changed.

"Nothing about you is weak, House", she said, feeling an unexpected wave of emotion at his frank vulnerability. "Everything you have done since the crash—your desire not just to live but to function; your desire to manage the pain without Vicodin; your sense…your sense of humour throughout all this; the fact that you're still walking…I don't think that's weak. I think that's incredibly str-, strong". The swell of feeling which she had been battling suddenly burst. Tears started to fall. "I think it's completely amazing, to, to…be honest", she sobbed. "Sorry, I just…sorry".

"Hey, hey", he mumbled, unsure where to look, "…I swear you do this on purpose. If anyone saw us with all this crying recently, they'd think I was a jerk. Or that it was your time of the month".

Cameron blew her nose on a tissue from the box on the coffee table and took another to wipe her eyes. "Yeah, well", she laughed thickly. "Good thing it's just us, then".

"I truly didn't think you'd want to walk me through a few gentle exercises", he tried again. "I literally lifted a few weights, stretched a few bands, and I was all done and tired".

"I don't care. I'd want to do it with you anyway".

"Not really worth your time, though".

"But it was worth Wilson's time?".

"I value his time far less than yours. And that's the God's honest truth".

"I want to exercise with you", she reaffirmed steadily. "If you'll allow me".

House sighed, looking into Cameron's eyes, which were now red from crying. "Fine", he relented eventually. "But you'll be bored. Don't say I didn't warn you".

"Deal". She held out her hand, sniffing a little.

With another sigh, House shook it, and they resumed eating.

"I don't understand you sometimes", he said at length. "You cry when you're sad and you cry when you're happy. I never know what to do".

"All you have to do is be you—you always cheer me up eventually", she grinned, now completely light-hearted.

"So many emotions. A rollercoaster. Don't you find being a woman exhausting?".

"Don't you find being an alien from outer space exhausting?", she shot back, but still dabbing intermittently at her eyes.

House scoffed, though he munched down a few mouthfuls of now cold toast. Only when his breakfast was gone did he say: "I don't think there are intelligent aliens, actually".

Cameron had resumed her reading, feeling a little self-conscious about her outpour, but she looked up again. "Oh?".

"If you think about it, life was present on this planet, like, what, four billion years ago? Microbes and stuff. And the first civilisation to appear on Earth is about now, give or take a few thousand years. So it takes the best part of four billion years to go from microscopic life to advanced cultures like human ones".

"OK?". This conversation reminded the immunologist of one they had shared in London on computer simulated consciousness. She had been equally confused then.

"Well, four billion years is a full third the age of the universe. That's a long time. Maybe microbes are common, but actual, living, breathing aliens? Extremely rare, if at all. Maybe only one intelligent species per galaxy. At most".

"Hmm. I take the point. But still…".

"There is no 'still'. My logic is airtight".

"Still", she repeated, holding her spoon aloft, "I would like you to take me to your mothership at some point".

"No way. You'll just contaminate it with girl cooties, just like you have my bathroom".

"Oh, what? You know this apartment is cleaner with me around. Not that it was messy or anything before".

"In fairness, it was kinda messy when we came back from the hospital that first time". House set his drink, which he had since taken up, back down again.

"How do you remember that? Stuff that happened pre-two weeks ago is gone for me".

"Maybe you should see a doctor about that. Short-term memory loss is no joke".

"Know any doctors?".

"No", he replied, completely deadpan.

"Anyway", announced Cameron, scraping up the rest of her cereal before setting down her bowl. "What are you planning to do today?".

House shrugged, though his eyes glazed. "D'you still have that treadmill at your place?", he asked after a moment's thought.

"I do".

"How'd you think it would look in this room? Obviously, I'll be doing a lot of stuff with the physiotherapist in due course after this stupid cast disappears". A knuckle rap. "But maybe I could use it to do some light walking, perhaps with the cane, even".

"Hmm. That…could work in theory. But it'd be a tight fit, no?".

"Shove the piano to the side a bit, move the plant more in this direction", he gestured with his hand, "we could make room. I wouldn't keep it, of course—you'd get it back if you moved out".

Cameron had been sipping coffee, but after hearing his words her heart began beating out of her chest and she started to speak. Unfortunately, she had neglected to swallow beforehand, and consequently spent the next thirty seconds coughing and spluttering.

House handed over a hastily grabbed tissue and she wheezed her thanks.

"You call me an alien", he added casually, "but you're aware that humans have to, like, empty their mouths before attempting to talk, right?".

"Who told you that?", she managed, wiping her eyes which were now streaming for good measure.

"Tucker Carlson. Like any good American, I get all my facts from Tucker Carlson".

"It's not true, anyway: I've seen you talk with food in your mouth all the time".

"What brought that coughing fit on?", he asked, ignoring her last comment. "Was it too hot?".

She looked at him. "Um, no".

House raised an eyebrow. "What's up?".

"I just-, you know…what you said? Just then?".

"Uhuh. I asked if I could borrow your treadmill, we discussed where it could go, and I said I'd give it back when you moved out. It was a fairly standard conversation: not amazing, not boring". House had the air of a man who had just done something indescribably funny but could not fathom why anyone would find it funny.

"No. No". She wagged a finger, having scrunched up her tissue and pocketed it. "You asked if you could borrow my treadmill, we discussed location, and then you said it'd be returned to me if I moved out. That's what you said".

"No".

"Yes".

"No". He held up a hand, just as she was about to contradict him: "we're not doing this again, OK? If you prefer walking round spreading false information, that's on you, not me".

Cameron regarded him keenly for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. There was a good chance House knew what he had said and was merely yanking her chain. And if he didn't know what he had said, and it had just been a response made on autopilot, then that was even more interesting. In any case, she didn't need to get bogged down in arguing moot points.

"So…", continued House warily, "…may I borrow your treadmill?".

"You may", she smiled.

"Dunno how you're gonna transport it here. I'm, er, not good with manual labour right now".

"Don't worry about that. Wilson's coming over later to pick up his cell, correct? I'll just ask him to head to mine afterwards, he and I can load it up, then we'll bring it back".

"Sounds good", he nodded.

With that, Cameron leapt to her feet, gathered up their breakfast things, and took them into the kitchen.


Later that afternoon, House, Cameron, and Wilson were in the living room considering where to place the treadmill, which was standing in the communal hallway outside.

"Are you sure this is going to fit?". Wilson sounded skeptical.

"Amber ask you that last night, did she?", House commented shortly. "Mazel tov".

Cameron giggled. Even Wilson snorted, though he quickly got back on track: "seriously, though".

"Sure. I mean, if it can fit in Cameron's pokey apartment-, no offence", House added to Cameron, "then it's definitely fitting in here".

"The difference being, of course, that Cameron doesn't have a huge piano. You don't, right?".

"I do not", she shook her head, suppressing another chuckle. "But it'll fit. We just need to move this stuff over. Here…", she walked over to the large plant pot, "…help me with this, Wilson".

The oncologist did as instructed, never one to leave a woman at a loose end. For the next fifteen minutes, he and Cameron set about clearing space for the treadmill and, generally, rearranging a corner of the main room.

House, meanwhile, offered suggestions and a few cane points. "Maybe over there. Yep, you got it. Put the weight through legs, not back".

"You're annoying", managed Wilson through gritted teeth as he and Cameron struggled with the piece of machinery.

"Come on, James. Cameron's stronger than you. See? Keep your end up. Show Amber what you're made of".

"Shut it, Greg. Right, are you set for a lowering?". This was directed at Cameron.

"Yep", she replied, trying desperately not to laugh for fear of dropping the thing.

"OK. Three, two…one".

The running machine lurched into position. The two movers stood back, each taking a deep breath.

"That wasn't so bad", offered House cheerfully. "I think you've earned yourself a trip to the mothership, after all", he said to his female companion, who was sipping from his water glass.

"I look forward to it", she grinned.

"I've no idea what that means", sighed Wilson. "And I'm not sure I want to know".

"Smart", nodded House, spinning the flame cannon. "Anal probes are no joke".

Finally, Cameron gave in and laughed out loud. Wilson, to his credit, merely sighed again, while House went to the treadmill and gave it an exploratory prod. With a bit of luck, this machine would be a portal to further independence.